


Pairing Oneshots

by Emmeebee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family, Friendship, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3466415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmeebee/pseuds/Emmeebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of oneshots starting about five years after DH. They can be read as stand-alone but they are in the same universe and so reference the events of other chapters. In order: Luna/Neville, Ginny/Oliver, Harry/Hermione friendship, Cho/OC, Daphne/Harry, George/Angelina, Hermione/Percy, Tracey/Blaise, Draco/Astoria, Ron/Romilda, Teddy/Victoire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Chain of Daffodils and A Bunch of Caskyria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recently returned from their honeymoon, Luna and Neville spend the day in the garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on ff.net on 27 April 2013.

She weaves a chain of white flowers together, creating slits with her fingernails in the stem of each and then pushing the stem of the next one through it before continuing the process, humming a soothing melody as she does so. Her sunshine-coloured skirt hangs down the rock on which she sits, wafting gently in the wind. When she finishes her task and enchants it, she places it securely on her head over her long blonde hair, picks up the bigger one that she made first, and skips over to her husband, hair billowing, cloak-like, behind her. He is gardening, uprooting weeds to give the other plants more room and resources to grow. Once that is done, he plans to take a few shoots of Blubbering Hibiscus to plant in the greenhouses at Hogwarts and show the children in September. When he'd first bought the plant a year ago he'd decided that it would be a good prank to play on the first years in order to get them excited about Herbology from the get-go; get a few of them to ingest a leaf, or maybe ask for volunteers from one of his NEWT classes or from the prefects, and the kids would love the class. They're always impressed by the flashier Charms and DADA classes, so this year he'll help the plants win them over.

As he stands up to stretch his legs, he feels his wife's hands gently putting something on his head. He doesn't even have to reach up to know that it's one of her Djaero Protectors.

"Thank you," he says sincerely. "We can pull up the djaerofils now."

Luna giggles as he turns around, the daffodil chain making him look incredibly childlike. "Well, Neville, you won't be winning any awards for masculinity," she says, "but I think you look sweet. And well protected, which is really the important thing."

He kisses her briefly but fondly before adjusting his gloves as he carefully steps around his precious plants to reach the infected djaerofils. Djaerofils themselves weren't bad, on the contrary they were beautiful and effective seasoning when prepared correctly, but if left untended for long enough – such as for the school term – they became infected with the mischievous creatures after which they were named, and they started to cause problems, poisoning the plants around them, when they became tired of their plant's restricted territory. Luna usually made it back to treat them before the infection but this year she'd been following the tracks of a Wuthering Lizard, which she couldn't leave for fear of never finding one again. Fortunately, she'd caught the elusive lizard and his mate and had been able to bring both of them back to the Mythical Animal Research Centre with her.

"Wait!" She reaches out to grab him before he can go any further. "I forgot that the fioras are beside the djaerofils. You need a bunch of caskyria in order to get between them."

"Sweetie, if I don't get the djaerofils removed soon, we'll have to wait for tomorrow so we have time to plant the new seeds before the fiora roots get to that soil."

"I'll only be a second. I prepared the adornment earlier; I just forgot to bring it out with us."

Holding her skirt a few inches from the ground so it won't get muddy, Luna runs back to the house to grab the bulky pouch containing the adornments, which she called bunches in front of Neville so he would accept them. She allows herself a momentary mischievous grin before hurrying back outside, hers already in her hair by the time she reaches him. She attaches his behind his ear expertly before stepping backwards and nodding approvingly. "Now you're ready."

Neville smiles and they both get to work on the djaerofils. When the last infected plant is safely in the soon-to-be-lit fireplace and the last seeds are securely in the cool dirt, Luna takes his hands in her own. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"Unlikely, but remember that feeling, okay?"

"Okay…why?"

Tugging her hands free, she pulls out the other object from the pouch and, before he can react, takes a photo. "The caskyria bunches weren't really necessary. In fact, they were just pink hairpieces I found at a fair the other week." Since most of her friends, overly aware of their lack of belief in the past, never question any of her statements, she likes to occasionally throw in something made up for fun. Neville's the only person she's ever told about it, though, so this is the first time she has tried fooling him.

"I – Luna!" He hurriedly pulls the pink flowery adornment from his hair and examines it to find that it is, in fact, a hairpiece.

She giggles uncontrollably. "Don't worry, I won't show anyone." When she finally gets it under control, she surveys him seriously. "You do remember that feeling, right?"

"It's a little hard to forget it," he admits forlornly. "Even when you seem to be emasculating me, I can't help but think how lovely you are."

"Well then, let's go inside. We both stink and after our showers I'd love to re-masculinise you."


	2. The Chaser and the Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At one of her fortnightly Quidditch practices with Oliver, Ginny reflects on her past relationships and on the person who now has her affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to my here-unnamed brother for betaing this. It took me ages to get this to the point where I felt comfortable posting it the first time, and the fact that he looked over it was a large part of what gave me the confidence to just let it go. I can't remember the date that I originally posted this on ff.net, but it was about a year after the first chapter.

Ginny used her red and gold armband, a remnant from her days on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, to wipe the sweat off her face as she flew back to the ground. How much effort Quidditch required had always surprised her Muggle-born non-flyer friends who had grown up with more overtly strenuous sports like the football and soccer games that they spoke of. She and Dean had rather heatedly debated the relative exertion required a few times over the years, especially back when they were dating.

That was a long time ago now, she thought, smiling fondly. She had distanced herself from Dean after their break up, too frustrated with him and his faults and the fact that she knew he knew that part of the reason for their break up was her inability to get over a boy who saw her as a little girl. She was just glad that they had befriended one another again after the final battle.

As she dismounted the broom, she tore herself away from the past to watch Oliver Wood, his face now also free of sweat, approach the ground at a faster pace, not slowing down until he was almost on the ground. She would have rolled her eyes at the showmanship, except she knew that for him it wasn't an attempt at showing off or gaudy one-upmanship, but rather a dedication to always playing his best and pushing his limits in case such a skill proved necessary in some game down the track.

"That was brilliant," he said before he even touched down. "That shot at the end almost went in. I'm rather surprised it didn't, actually; it was a close one."

Ginny smiled at the compliment. Ever since a backyard Quidditch match post-war with Harry, her brothers – surviving brothers, their then-girlfriends and a few members from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, back before she and Harry had broken up, she and Wood had practiced together every fortnight. She was surprised at how funny he could be when he wasn't obsessing over the sport and, although they'd never spent much time together at school, they quickly became friends. Of course, officially they were just acquaintances and fellow ex-Housemates; neither wanted to risk the press catching word that the Boy-Who-Lived's ex-girlfriend was spending time with the rising professional Quidditch player. She remembered what happened to Hermione. All of the war heroes and survivors had adopted don't-ask-don't-tell policies; they responded if it was appropriate, but volunteered nothing other than the bare basics. Regardless of this, their sessions had continued consistently. Even when he was overseas playing with his team, he'd make his way back for their sessions.

His ability to block almost anything she threw at him had hit her self-esteem a couple of times, but then she'd remember that the reason they always practiced together was that he wanted extra training and she was one of the few non-professional players he knew who had a chance to get a Quaffle past him.

It's just that those few non-professional players didn't have much of a chance. She loved the practice, though. She still occasionally regretted becoming an experimental spell maker, designing new jinxes and hexes to be taught only to Aurors, but these sessions gave her the chance to let out some steam and play the sport she loved so much. It also reminded her how much more work she'd have to put in if she ever wanted to play professionally; she had seen Wood's training regimen and all she could say was that it was so much tougher than what the twins said he'd put his team through at Hogwarts. Whenever she thought about it, she reminded herself that she could handle it if she wanted to, and her competitive desire to prove herself hit full force and she started wanting to try out for the first Quidditch team she could get herself near, but then always re-realised how draining it would be to do that for something that wasn't your dream and that it would be foolish to drain herself just to prove something that didn't even need proving. Because while it was something she loved and was passionate about, it was far from her dream.

She didn't know what her dream was anymore. Love? A family? An exciting, fulfilling career? Fighting for what she believed in, certainly, but after the war she wanted as far away from the Ministry as possible, regardless of how reformed it became under Kingsley's leadership. She just didn't know.

She admired Wood for knowing his from so early an age. And for going after it wholeheartedly. And for a bunch of other things.

But she didn't over-admire him. She knew that he was completely human and had his faults, like his inability to think clearly about other things when he was speaking Quidditch strategy. Unlike with Harry. Her crush on him had been built on the image of the perfect guy, and while she eventually grew to know his faults and love him despite them she still had this underlying image of him as a hero, her hero, and she didn't want that. She didn't want to be the hero's girl. Even more importantly, she didn't want him to view her that way. Harry had always appreciated her independence and strength, but had still at times viewed her as one of the many people to whom he owed protection. It was like Dean's constant over-the-top chivalry all over again. Glancing at Oliver as they started in on an in depth discussion of a play he wanted to suggest to his captain, she was warmed slightly by the knowledge that that wasn't Oliver's way. As an ex-captain, he was protective and quick to defend his teammates, but he also had a deep understanding of the importance of letting those same players do their roles and take their own risks.

"And you see, it's perfect because the Horntails are exceptional when they're playing a slow game, but when hassled they mess up, so all we need to do is –"

"Oliver." It still felt weird calling him that. Whenever they played Quidditch together, he returned to being Wood in her mind. Habit from hearing Fred, George and Lee call him that so often, she supposed. "You're rambling again. You've said why it's perfect like five times now."

"Oh. I get a little too focused on Quidditch sometimes, don't I?"

"Just a little." She raised her forefinger and thumb and made a tiny gap between them.

"You enjoy this though, right? You're not just coming along because you don't want to insult me by backing out of it?"

"Does that sound like me?"

"No. Which is why I trust you to answer this honestly, even if it might make things awkward for a few weeks."

"Yes?"

"Can that be your answer?"

"How likely is my wanting to say no?"

"I hope unlikely."

A pause. She watched his face, serious even though he tended to be less serious around her these days, for thirty seconds before raising her eyebrows. "Do you want to just ask me, then?"

"Right! Are you busy on Saturday?"

She thought for a moment. She had planned on visiting Luna and Neville, who had recently returned from their honeymoon, but they didn't know about it yet so that could easily be changed. "Yes."

"Oh. Right." He sounded disappointed. Ginny couldn't help but grin.

"I thought you wanted me to say yes," she teased.

"Right. Funny. Yeah, I changed the question."

"Good. Because I'm really not busy."

"Would you like to go out to dinner?"

It took her a few seconds to process that. She had realised two months prior that she was starting to fancy Oliver but, sure that he just saw her as a friend and not wanting a repeat of her childhood crush on Harry, hadn't allowed herself to think about or acknowledge it much. "I'd love to."

He hesitated. "I don't know how to say this, but… I don't mean as friends. Just so we don't have different understandings of what it's meant to be. I fully intend it to be a date."

"That's fortunate, seeing as I do too."

He smiled broadly. "Now, I'm sorry, but you seriously need to take a shower. You stink."

"I do not," she responded, quickly sniffing herself. "Besides, it's not as if you aren't used to being around sweaty people."

"True."

"I should go, though; I'm on cooking duty tonight. I'll let you go tell your captain all about your brilliant plans."

"As if there's any way I'll be able to concentrate on Quidditch plans tonight."

"I just hope I don't ruin dinner."

They were both still smiling giddily as they turned in place, twin cracks echoed through the air and their bodies rematerialized elsewhere.


	3. Firewhiskey Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frustrated with her relationship with Ron, Hermione goes to Grimmauld Place to talk things through with Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merci à mon frère.

"I can't stand it anymore," Hermione announced as she burst through the door to the dining room at Grimmauld Place. "Kreacher let me in," she explained off-handedly as she plonked down on the seat next to Harry. "I would suggest asking him to make sure you're expecting guests before letting them run rampant, but then I suppose he'd probably just stop letting us in altogether."

Harry hastily finished his mouthful of food. "He's actually starting to like you since you made that announcement about how Regulus died trying to bring down Voldemort. But you're not here to talk about Kreacher. Butterbeer or firewhiskey?"

"Firewhiskey." 

Harry nodded. This was serious, then. He fetched two glasses and a bottle of the strong drink from the kitchen, setting the glasses in front of their respective seats and filling them both. If Hermione needed alcohol, chances are he would too by the end of the conversation.

"A toast?" he asked dryly.

"I think we've had enough toasts for a lifetime. To the boy who defeated Voldemort, to our young heroic lovebirds, to the teenagers who fought Voldemort…"

He laughed. "My favourite was the toast to the girl who believed and didn't let what others said faze her, instead going on to help lead the rebellion at Hogwarts."

"I don't think I was there for that one."

"You weren't; it was when you were working on werewolf history and laws for that amendment. The Auror Department asked Luna in as a guest speaker on facing persecution and keeping secrets while in enemy territory. Of course, the Ministry official making the toast was one of the Housemates who used to bully her. Said she remembered her from school and everything."

"How did Luna take it?"

"She just smiled, thanked her and said that she remembered her too and thought she should know that she did find her shoes eventually. She played it off so innocently, too, but the official went red as a Weasley and fled the stage as soon as it was acceptable!"

They both burst into laughter before simultaneously taking a swig from their glasses and grimacing at the bitter taste that they still hadn't acquired.

"So, what can't you stand?"

Hermione tentatively drank some more before replying. "Ronald. I love the insufferable twat, but sometimes he's too much to take. Do you know what he was saying to his friends? That I'm a perfectionist and an overachiever."

"Well, you are. That's not a bad thing." Harry had witnessed firsthand both the effort that Hermione put into her work and the rewards reaped from it. She spent more hours working than anyone else in her department, often finishing drafting a new policy at home because she couldn't rest until she got it right. From his work teaching defense skills to Aurors and ministry workers and ensuring that schools' DADA curricula were providing the most effective education, he had both suggested changes and seen evidence of changes that Hermione had devised. He wished that his best friend would rest more, but they both understood the importance of enacting and enforcing as many policies as possible while the Ministry was still in a state of receptiveness following the war. Kinglsey Shacklebolt was firmly on their side in his position as the Minister for Magic, but there were many more people who had to cooperate for the policies to be properly enforced and the heavier the knowledge of the Death Eaters' penetration of all aspects of their society weighed on their minds, the better. As it was, they were nearing the end of the golden window of opportunity, but had only changed a fraction of what they thought needed changing.

"According to him, it is – oh, don't stop eating on my account, Harry; your dinner will go cold. We could heat it up, but it's never as good when it's been heated up."

Meeting her eyes, Harry very deliberately ate some more pumpkin before he spoke. "He doesn't mean it like that. It's just… we both know he's prone to envy." They shared a bittersweet smile. "He wouldn't wish failure on you, but he doesn't like that we've both been successful in the Ministry while the only reason he was accepted into the Auror Academy in the first place was his involvement in the war. They accepted a lot of people from the Battle of Hogwarts to replenish their numbers, but now they're faced with a group of brave but young recruits who they wouldn't have accepted had it not been for the battle. I don't know how long he'll last. I think he knows there will eventually be a crackdown on performance."

"I know. It's just hard to take him being so negative and passive aggressive all the time, that's all. It's like he has to suck the joy out of all my accomplishments because he doesn't want to apply himself enough to improve his performance or ask for help."

"I don't think he wants to acknowledge that he needs help. Work is the first thing we've done on our own, it's the first time we have to prove ourselves without having the others as back up. He's under a lot of pressure. You've always put that pressure on yourself and my job is essentially just an extension on the D.A., but he's experiencing a lot of things for the first time."

"When did you get so wise, anyway?"

"When I entered into the real world and had to start dealing with politics and all of that. School really doesn't prepare you for everything, huh? Well, I guess Slughorn tried. Or did you mean here specifically? When I started training people and realised how frustrating it is when you know a student could master a spell if they only tried and realised that that was me in many ways at Hogwarts, I 'spose."

"You're a good man, Harry." She sighed, running her fingers along a pattern on the table. "I'm sorry you and Ginny didn't work out."

"I'm not. Not anymore. I love her. What we were is always going to be special to me. She's always going to be special to me. But so are you and Ron and the D.A. and McGonagall and everybody else, you know? It's just that her special has a different feel attached." He paused. "Did you know she's dating Oliver Wood now?"

"Yeah, she told me a few months ago. You're fine with it?"

"I was surprised at first, but yes. I guess I've finally truly moved on."

"That's something I could drink to." Hermione smiled before doing so. "I thought he'd be bad for her, be too focused on Quidditch, but she's handling him well. I'm really glad you're fine with it, Harry, because I think they're rubbing off on each other in a good way." She suddenly became more subdued. "You know, coming back here reminds me of the summer before fifth year. We knew something terrible was going on but had no idea what, but we were all here, together. You and me and Ron and Ginny and the twins and the Order. I'd have to say that was by far my favourite summer ever. Things will never be the same, of course they won't, but I still don't want to lose that… Harry, what does it say about me that the main reasons I want to stay with Ron are that he's my friend, it's comfortable, I don't want to hurt him, and it means Ginny and I will eventually be sisters-in-law?"

"That you're persistent." Harry sighed. "I hate to say this, and please never tell Ron I did because he'd be pissed, but you need to make sure you don't hurt yourself by staying. It hurt when Gin left me, but… but I think our relationship was holding us both back. We understood what the other had been through better than anyone but we weren't allowing ourselves to move on. Is Ron holding you back, Hermione? Ron will get over this eventually, whether it's by changing jobs or getting the hang of it. But, knowing him, it'll happen again over something else. I guess the question is whether you can accept that."

"I feel like I should be able to. I helped defeat Voldemort, I should be able to put up with Ron Weasley's faults."

"For our whole lives, it's been a matter of what we should do or are expected to do. What do you want to do?"

"I want –" Hermione paused to consider. What did she really want? She knew what she thought she wanted, but this wasn't the kind of question to which one should respond with a guess or a habitual answer. "I don't think it's entirely a matter of what I want, either. It's also a matter of what I can and can't do. I want to make it work with Ron. But I can't talk to him about this. If he's annoyed with me, he won't listen to reason, and if I'm annoyed with him over a derogatory comment that he's made about me, he insists it was just a joke and I need to lighten up. If I could do anything, I'd make him listen. But I can't. And if I can't talk to him about things… That's not a very good relationship, is it? So I guess I want things to work with Ron, but things need to change for that to happen, and I don't think they can change."

"Something Hermione Granger can't do? The press would implode with excitement."

"See, when you say things like that, they actually sound like a joke."

"Wood has an older brother, doesn't he? Maybe you'll end up with him and then you and Ginny can still be sisters-in-law."

She chuckled. "At least he likes Quidditch less than Wood." Finishing the remainder of her glass, she stood up. "I should go. I have a boyfriend to break up with before I talk myself out of it."


	4. Normal Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After fleeing Britain and its memories in the wake of the war, Cho has been putting herself back together in Australia with the help of her psychologist and her new best friend. Now, however, she thinks it might be time to go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my brother for betaing this.

Gazing out the window at the busy Melbourne street, Cho took another slow sip of her camomile tea, savouring the taste and the way it warmed her up inside. She sighed in satisfaction as she set the mug back down. She knew that going to that psychologist was good for her, but appointments sometimes left her jittery and emotional and in severe need of some tea. Whenever she had a particularly emotional appointment, she'd call Ryan and if he was available they'd go out for lunch at their favourite café, both of them eating in silence until she had processed it all and felt ready to speak again.

It was hard to discuss her experiences with a Muggle psychologist. Leanne had assured her that everything was confidential and she could say anything to her, but even if telling her about magic _wouldn't_ be a breach of wizarding law, she knew that Leanne would think she was crazy if she started talking about magic and tournaments and dark wizards and final battles as if they were reality. She'd made up a past with the same major events but different mechanisms, but it wasn't quite the same. She couldn't talk about the stress of being part of a war that the Muggle world had never even heard of and 'the most horrid professor you could ever imagine, she pushed the boundaries of corporal punishment and really should have been imprisoned for what she did' didn't come close to describing the severity of Umbridge's impacts. Seeing Leanne's shocked expressions as she relayed the Mugglised versions of what had happened, however, Cho had started to realise just how unusual and traumatic her educational experience had been. Still, talking about the fake story wasn't as therapeutic as she thought discussing real events would be, but there weren't any psychologists in the wizarding world so she supposed this was the best she could get.

Not for the first time, she wished that there _were_ psychologists in the wizarding world. She hadn't had much contact with anyone since she took the research job in Australia two and a half years prior, no longer able to stand friends who hadn't returned for the fight yet expected her to be able to just brush everything off like a speck of dust when what they saw as a speck of dirt was actually a clump of grime wedged so tight into the fibres of her jumper that removing it was a monumental journey in itself. They just didn't get that it wasn't that easy. No one in the wizarding world, outside those who had truly lived it, got that. And even those who did get that thought she would be fine because, hey, she didn't have it as bad as Harry Potter and his friends.

She had half a mind to study psychology and start up a wizarding psychology practice. She could be a frontrunner: Cho Chang, the young woman who alerted the magical world to the importance of mental health. _Well, at least I still have the Ravenclaw drive to excel and prove oneself._

Glancing at Ryan, she was once again grateful for everything he'd done for her. She remembered vividly the day they met, when she'd answered the door to her new apartment to find an attractive couple standing outside to welcome her to the building. Of course, she'd soon found out it was his sister and he'd asked her along so it wasn't just a strange guy showing up. It had been extremely embarrassing to have _that_ assumption corrected so vehemently. Regardless, they had all gotten along brilliantly. So brilliantly that he'd asked her out a few weeks later. Still an emotional mess at the time, she'd quickly blurted out that her boyfriend had died when she was sixteen and she wasn't over it yet. She'd expected him to excuse himself as soon as would be considered polite, as her friends had always tried to do, but instead he had listened before recommending that she saw a psychologist if she didn't mind the suggestion and hadn't already. As soon as he'd gone, she'd looked up what a psychologist was. Used, by that point, to the idea that you were expected to handle things stoically, she'd scoffed. Then she'd realised that it was exactly what she'd wanted all along: someone to talk to who would genuinely listen and understand. She'd told Ryan so the next time she'd seen him and they'd grown closer, soon becoming best friends.

She'd never expected to have a Muggle best friend. In fact, she'd never thought it possible for magical and non-magical folk to be so close. Her parents had always been staunchly isolationist, believing that, while neither were better than the other, Muggles and wizards and witches were best left separate. It, they had said, was like throwing two volatile potions ingredients into a random cauldron. It might work and create a new and brilliant potion, but it's more likely to blow up in your face and ruin everything. They just didn't understand one another. But Cho had decided to have a detox of sorts from anything that reminded her of the war, and that included most wizards and witches and left her growing closer to the Muggles she met.

But she couldn't see herself being able to keep up their friendship if she did set up that psychology practice. Wizards and witches in Australia were too spread out for it to be profitable for her to start it up there, so she would really have to return to England if she wanted it to go anywhere. And returning to England would probably leave her fully immersed in the wizarding world once again, no longer paying attention to the same political leaders or watching the same movies or reading the same articles as Ryan. It was hard enough to act Muggle when she was immersed in their culture. She just couldn't see herself being able to keep it up when that wasn't her life anymore. Yet the thought of literally being on the opposite side of the world from and figuratively being in a different world to her best friend pained her. She felt more comfortable around him than she had in England in a long time, which in turn gave her leave to just relax and be at peace.

"Ryan?"

It took him a moment to tear his gaze away from the busy street. "Cho?"

"Have you ever considered moving?"

"Apartment? Yeah, though I don't think I ever will. It's a little far from where I work, but it's the best balance I can get between distance and cost, so I think I'm set for a while. Or do you mean city?"

"I meant overseas. To, say, England." She tried to be subtle, but was all too aware that subtlety had never been her thing.

It took him a few moments to respond. She liked that he always thought important things through, in a thoughtful way rather than the sly way political players at Hogwarts weighed up their every word to ensure it would get them what they wanted. "I haven't, no. But I wouldn't be against it. Why?"

She had never allowed herself to consider acting on her feelings for him, sure it would end like the potions her parents had warned her about. She'd known that they were standing at the proverbial precipice and that if she did step over the edge she would fall hard, like she always did, and never be able to climb back up and return to the exact place she started. Considering that she was, for the first time since she was sixteen, completely content with where she was, that seemed like an unnecessary risk. Besides, witches and wizards weren't allowed to tell Muggles about magic until they were engaged, by which time both she and Ryan would be so far into the relationship that they would both be hurt if he couldn't accept her magic and she refused to give up the magical world. It had never seemed worth it to her. Gazing back at Ryan, however, she could finally see why some witches and wizards took the risk. He made her feel normal again, and she'd risk anything for that.

"I would love to take you up on that date you asked me on two years ago if it's still on the table, considering that we're, you know, both still single. But I've been thinking about applying to study psychology next year and moving back to London to set up a practice after getting a few years' experience, because my hometown really doesn't have any psychologists practicing there and I think they need some. While I'm not saying I expect us to still be together then, if we even do go on a date, or that I expect us not to be for that matter, but I was just…" Cho took a deep breath. There was really no need to get this nervous about something he would never judge her over anyway. "I would consider moving back to Australia when the practice is at a place where it could continue without me. I just wanted to see whether you'd consider moving to England in the meantime, if we were at a stage in our relationship where that would be appropriate."

"To be honest, I'd given up hope on you ever – how do you put it? – 'fancying' me. But I would definitely like that date. And I have always been a winter person."

Smiling, Cho reached out and took his hand. "How does Saturday sound?"


	5. Blow Up the Press

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to my brother for betaing this.

"If there was one thing I learned about fighting, it's that you haven't won until the battle's over. It doesn't matter if you're better at fighting than they are. You never know when they might get a lucky shot. The best strategy is _always to put them down fast_ and get out of there. That's why the Disarming Charm is so handy – it's not flashy, it just does the job. That's why my godfather died – he started to win, thought he'd won, Bellatrix Lestrange got a shot off at him. And that's why, although we're practicing for endurance and versatility in case it's a long battle, you need to remember that the goal of a fight is to get out of there alive, not to show off your fancy wand work. That's it for today!" Harry announces, gazing around at the room of tired Ministry employees he'd separated into three teams and had duel one another, with Harry stopping them at regular intervals to comment on their performance and points for improvement. "You went well. Just don't forget to work on not telegraphing your target. This isn't a duel, where your opponent knows they're your only target. Your opponents won't fight fair. If you're focused on one opponent, you're leaving your back open to ten others. You need to be aware of everything that's going on around you. I'll see those of you who can make it next week."

Harry packs up as the advanced class filters out. He has never quite gotten the hang of getting the Packing Charm to put everything exactly where he wants them, so he summons and puts away each item individually before surveying the room to ensure that he hasn't forgotten anything. He never has before, but he still likes to make certain. Surprised to find a small, stocky book next to one of the walls, he summons it and opens it in search of anything that might identify its owner. Unfortunately, he can't find a name. Deciding to inform the reception desk and bring it with him to the next session, he shrinks his bag and slips it and the book into the pocket of his robe.

He is just about to open the door when it swings open and one of his students almost crashes into him on her way back in. She avoids him at the last moment, sidestepping him. As he steps back, he vaguely notes that he had noticed her earlier. She's attractive, with brown-blonde hair, hazel eyes and a confident way of holding herself that spoke of high breeding, and he could have sworn that he knew her from somewhere, even though she had never attended one of his classes before.

"I beg your pardon." Her voice is soft, with an aristocratic tint.

"It wasn't your fault."

"I came back to find a dictionary I think I left behind."

He pulls it out of his pocket and holds it out to her. "Is this it?"

"Yes. Thank you." She takes it from him and flips through it before pocketing it herself. The act jogs his memory. They were in the same year at school, although they had never really spoken – she had been in Slytherin, which had made all the difference back then. He vaguely remembers seeing her in the aftermath of the final battle and from a distance at a few functions since then.

"We went to school together, didn't we? I'm afraid I can't quite place your name."

"Daphne Greengrass."

"Harry Potter."

She smiles sardonically. "Trust me, I know."

"Right. Of course."

"The defence lesson was interesting, Lord Potter. I think it was very beneficial."

"I know I have no hope of convincing most of the people I meet not to call me that and that it besmirches my station to try. But you've probably called me Potter since we were eleven. If it suits you, I'd rather the people I went to school with continue to call me whatever they did back then."

"Very well, Potter. Same to you."

He nods once in acknowledgement. "You haven't been to any of the previous sessions."

"No, I'm overseas a lot for my job so I haven't been around for any. I'm a linguist," she explains.

"I didn't realise there were magical linguists."

"Well, I work closely with Muggle linguists. I go to remote communities with them to transcribe languages and, in my case, create a separate lexicon of their spells and rituals. I focus on communities with a known magical population, of course. My focus is on increasing our ability to use spells from different cultures. You have to be able to speak and understand the language really well to know the pronunciation and nuances of their spells and to have any chance of casting them correctly. Most of the time the spells will be similar to those based on Latin in terms of purpose, but it can result in unique insights into spells that people are trying to create or ideas for spells that we've never thought of. That's what this dictionary is, actually. I compiled it when I was abroad and this is the copyedit."

"That sounds fascinating."

"I certainly think so. It can be dangerous, however, so defence lessons are definitely advisable. We always get permission to enter communities or countries, but you do sometimes get individuals who would rather you had just stayed away. It's only to be expected, I suppose, but it is always useful to be able to defend yourself."

"I guess that's the case anywhere."

"True. Anyway, my boss assessed me and recommended that I join this class. So, was that like what you used to do in Dumbledore's Army? I was always curious about that."

"Today's session certainly wasn't. It's similar at times, especially the beginners' classes, but in the D.A. we mostly focused on learning individual spells rather than actually sparring."

"I see. A few of us considered coming along to the meeting, you know."

"You knew about it?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Of course I knew about it. Knowledge was power; it was my business to know things. Lord Nott and Mr Malfoy didn't, but then none of their connections were involved in the group."

"Then why didn't you come? I must admit I don't think the overall reception would've been positive back then, but if you signed your name on the sheet like everybody else and took the same risk as everybody else…"

"You know the world of politics now; we were living it back then. And when you live in a serpents' pit, someone – friends of friends of acquaintances or portraits or whomever – will always notice your movements, however careful you think you are. As soon as you roll your dice, people start to notice, even if they don't know exactly what you're rolling for. The idea was to keep them from noticing for as long as possible. We liked your idea, though, so Tracey, Blaise and I started our own defence club. Umbridge approved it under the belief that it was a defence theory study group. Tracey pretended to be struggling to understand the text in class so that it looked believable and Blaise and I put up wards so we'd know if people were approaching and would be able to revert to quizzing one another."

"Effective. So, the three of you would have joined had we asked and had you been able to do so secretly?"

"Of course. Slytherins didn't like Umbridge's classes any more than the rest of you did, it's just that she liked _us_ more and we didn't want to jeopardise that."

"I think House boundaries blinded most of us back then."

"That they did. They're supposed to give you a starting point and help you reach your true potential, but they've just served to further separate people. I'm glad that Horace Slughorn agreed to remain at Hogwarts until a suitable replacement is found. He'll help change the perception of Slytherin. He'll also help to straighten out the game – the political game at Hogwarts became rather distorted after he left. Players tried, but they didn't have the same wisdom that their parents were given. It's not exactly good game-playing to wear badges that deride a future lord, after all. Not Lord Macmillan's finest moment."

"Yes, it probably would have been beneficial for me to have a professor to tell me there was even a game being played." Daphne looks as if she isn't sure whether or not it would offend him to laugh, but when Harry laughs she lets herself join in.

"That would have been a little challenging. You did manage to fail rather spectacularly at the game for the first few years of school. At least you managed to turn the situation around fifth year with the connections you made through your D.A., even if you didn't quite know what you were doing at the time."

"I honestly thought everyone was just staring or introducing themselves to me because of what happened when I was a baby!"

"Yes, we all know that _now_. Back then, you just seemed like a snob."

"Which is exactly how you all appeared to me."

She grins at him. "Well, we were a little too focused on the game and making connections. We'd been prepared for that moment for years and were ready to finally stretch our wings and try it out for ourselves. So we probably did all come across as snobs who were overly interested in political connections, even though we never meant to."

"I can see how all the public attention and expectations could get to the head of an eleven-year-old."

"A lot of what happened in our schooling could get to the head of anyone, I think. Speaking of public attention, though, I noticed that the press are finally over your friends' break up."

"I just wish they were over _us_."

"That's never going to happen. Didn't you know we owe them our stories just because they grace us by knowing our names?"

"And that it's their right to get disgruntled and throw it back in your face when you don't want to tell them every time you dine out. Yeah, I got the memo."

"And that it's their prerogative to threaten you with no longer caring that you're an heiress and with tearing apart your public reputation."

"Even though you never even wanted a public reputation in the first place because seriously it's all because your mother jumped in the way when you were a baby and saved you."

"And you'd be perfectly happy without people knowing your name if it meant they didn't follow you around all the time."

"Exactly."

Her tone is suddenly serious. "But then you remember that you do need the press on your side because they're a powerful tool. If you have them on your side, it can really help you achieve your agenda."

He meets her eyes. He knows more than anyone that everyone has an agenda and she's had more reason than almost anyone his age to perfect the art of concealing her agenda, being the only major Slytherin player who disagreed with the others' political stances. "And what's your agenda, Greengrass?"

"In general, to make a suitable but loving match for myself or my sister so that we can continue the Greengrass line. With you… I'm at the stage where I can play the game without knowing that I'm playing it. I am professionally and artificially nice to everyone and I have perfected the art of subtly and efficiently shutting people down. What's my agenda? I want to feel genuine in an artificial world. I want to find people, like Blaise and Tracey, around whom I don't have to play, because they won't stab me in the back if I let something slip that they don't agree with. You didn't grow up in a backstabbing world and even now you and your friends are rather straightforward with your intentions and thoughts. You do need to work on that, by the way, but I suppose that my agenda with you, Potter, is to see whether you can be one of those people around whom I can be me." She smiles sweetly. "If you tell that to anyone other than Granger, because I assume you might want to discuss it with her, or Luna, I _will_ make you regret it." She pauses. "As we're being blunt, what's your agenda?"

"To reform the wizarding world, to adequately fulfil my duties as Lord Potter and Lord Black, to avoid the media spotlight, and to be happy."

"Nothing surprising. A word of advice on handling the press, then. If you give them what you don't mind relinquishing, they're more likely to respect your boundaries on things that are truly private."

"They've never respected my boundaries. I doubt they'd start just because I started to tell them when something major happened."

"They did when you were younger. Dumbledore had an agreement with them. He, with your guardians' permission, provided a baby photo of you and basic health updates to the press in exchange for them not attempting to seek you out. The agreement only broke fourth year because of your involvement in the Triwizard Tournament. Of course, after what happened with the third task the press all viewed you as fair game."

"So, what would you have recommended Hermione and Ron do differently?"

"They handled the break up announcement rather well. I would have suggested not being quite so reticent to discuss why – vagueness is good, but if they had said that they were breaking up amicably due to different priorities, for example, which is what I assume happened, then the press would have reported on it but speculated much less. The main difference would have been in handling their relationship in general – they never made an announcement about it unless pressured to do so, which lead the press to pressure them more in the hopes of learning something. As unjustified as it is, the press and public _do_ feel entitled to our lives. Occasionally releasing photos or providing information regarding a public appearance would have placated the press earlier, preventing them from getting into the habit of sneakily trying to obtain more information and also making them not want to jeopardise what they are freely given by overstepping their bounds. Furthermore, if you never tell them anything about you, the public is going to support the press sticking its nose into your private affairs. If you make public announcements regarding the major events and appease them, the public is less likely to support the press pushing for more information or embarking on a smear campaign. It's unfortunate, but that's the system."

"I think we're all still getting used to successfully managing public relations."

"I've had my whole life to grow accustomed to it."

"Hermione and I have accompanied one another to all Ministry functions since her break up to keep the press from hounding either of us – I think the press are too scared to insinuate that there is anything there after Hermione referenced fourth year when vehemently decrying anything after the first function. However, she and Percy Weasley have been occupied working on an amendment recently and I don't think they will make the upcoming ball. I fear I will have to go with someone else, which will of course cause the press to speculate over my relationship status. How would you recommend handling that situation?"

"It depends upon whom. Make a few public appearances with the individual as friendly acquaintances in the lead up to the ball. Perhaps dine out with a group of friends – make sure that everyone isn't coupled off, of course, or the press will go even crazier."

"What if it were you?"

"As political acquaintances or dates?"

"I was thinking political acquaintances with the possibility of a date occurring at a later, er, date."

"Then I would recommend that Ms Granger sends her response regarding attendance as soon as possible, after which you would go on a public outing with my father to discuss politics and other important topics. We would then respond to our invitations saying that we are accompanying one another and then would make a public announcement to the effect that you are escorting me and that we are not in a relationship but are willing to consider the idea. It would, of course, be preferable not to make such an announcement until the likelihood of such a relationship had been ascertained, but given the nature of the outing it would be better to make the announcement early. It would still attract mass media attention, given both of our statuses and the potential political implications of a union between our families, but not to the same degree or level of speculation."

"Should I ask Hermione her plans, then? Would you like to accompany me?"

"Is it dependent upon whether Ms Granger is otherwise occupied?"

"No."

"Then let's blow up the press."

"Do you think there's a chance it would literally explode?" He looks excited at that idea, as if it would be his life's dream come true.

"Perhaps if we ever do become official."


	6. The Fun One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my brother for betaing.

Angelina was assaulted by rambunctious noise and psychedelic colour as she stepped over the threshold into the shop. She was accustomed to it by now, but it still made her smile to think of it – the twins always had stood out, regardless of whether or not they were trying to, and the shop had always been infectious in its energy and sense of mischievous fun. Standing on tiptoes so she could peer over the heads of the excited customers, she spied the familiar red of Weasley hair over near a display of fireworks. She wove her way through the crowd towards him, stopping when she noticed that he was in a rather energetic conversation with an older man. It touched her, watching that. Everyone had thought that George had shattered irreparably after Fred's death, but he was pulling himself back together. Fred's memory was now a fondly held inspiration rather than a ghost haunting him. She had recently noticed that he seemed to be genuinely enjoying the shop on its own merits again, rather than dedicating himself to it in Fred's memory. Spotting her, George flashed her a huge grin before returning his attention to the customer.

She scanned the shop to find something to occupy herself with while she waited. _There's always something fun to look at while waiting here._

A stand filled with small contraptions that were sending off sparks caught her attention. She vaguely remembered George pitching the idea to her a few months ago, but she had been busy with work when he was creating it and hadn't yet seen the final product. Slipping it around her wrist, she looked around for someone she knew enough to use it on. She considered Verity, but the young woman looked frazzled enough as she rearranged a display while attempting to keep an eye on a bunch of young kids who had been left unaccompanied in the shop. She had heard Verity compare unaccompanied kids in a joke shop to a game called Russian roulette – you never knew when their destructive power would be unleashed.

"Can I help you?"

Angelina turned and came face-to-face with Ron. He had left the Ministry three months prior and, after taking two months to sort himself out, had decided to work for George until he determined his next step.

"I'm alright, just waiting for George. We're going out to lunch when Tim gets here. How's it going?"

"Alright. I've finally finished the trial period, so I'm on the roster properly now rather than as an extra. George still tends to put extra people on, though. Business has decreased but he wants to keep people's hours up, I guess."

"Oh? I was under the impression that business had increased in the past few months." She was also under the impression that the reason George sometimes put more people on than were needed was that he hadn't needed any more shop assistants and had shifted things around to make space for Ron without significantly impacting the other employees.

"You're probably right; you're around him more than I am, being married and all."

"I see George has reintroduced the love potion line. I'll let you get back to work while I check it out."

Ron grinned. "Going to use one on my brother?"

Angelina laughed. "Of course." She seized the moment, clapping Ron on the back with the hand with the bracelet. He flinched beneath her hand as the magic zapped him. Laughing, she pulled her hand back. "Sorry, I just had to try it."

"I grew up with the twins, I'm used to it. I think I'll stay away from that display from now on, though."

"I'll see you at dinner on Sunday, yeah?"

He nodded as he walked off to approach another customer, one who was far _away_ from that particular display. She smirked. Ron obviously hadn't yet learned all of the products, or he would've known that the Sparks Conveyer was designed to also make your hair stand on end and a singed smell that only you could not smell follow you around for the rest of the day. The idea was that you would notice the zap and think the prank was done. Satisfied, she dropped the Sparks Conveyer back off in its display before going to the love potion display.

She remembered the initial love potion product. Of course she did; quite a few people in her year had tried using them on one another as jokes when they were first released. But while there had been a failsafe that ensured that the intoxicated person wouldn't do anything drastic with the other person, such as eloping or having sex, while under its influence, a case in which a boy kissed the girl who was _not_ his girlfriend and was subsequently broken up with had led to stock recall. While George had insisted that it was the poor blighter's girlfriend's fault because she had to have been looking for a reason to break up with him anyway if she'd use a coerced kiss as an excuse, he had decided to add to the failsafe so that it included the stipulation that the drinker wouldn't do anything physical that they wouldn't otherwise agree to. It still served its purpose of embarrassing the drinker – and, depending on the motives, the giver who thought it was a true love potion – but without the same risks.

Angelina looked on the potions fondly, remembering when she had tested them for George after the alteration. George had warned her beforehand that he'd get a number of boys to try to kiss her to make sure it worked. He had been rather shocked when she allowed him to kiss her, especially when he realised that the potion's failsafe worked with the others. It had given her the need, if not the bravery, to tell him about her crush on him and how she hadn't mentioned anything because they were both leaning heavily on one another after Fred's death and she didn't want to mess anything up. And that had eased the way for George to admit that he liked her too but hadn't wanted to act on it since he knew she'd liked Fred for a few months fifth year and thought it would be weird. Smiling once again, she noted that George using her as a product tester would have to stop. She would miss it, but supposed she could sign up again eventually.

"Angelina," George greeted her, shocking her out of her thoughts. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, which she returned with one on the lips. "Tim's arrived for his shift, so I'm ready if you are. I just need to go up to change my robes – my shop ones might stand out a bit much – and I'll be set."

"I'll come up with you. I see that the love potions are back," she said, gesturing towards them with her head before taking her husband's hand as they headed to the back of the shop, passing Tim, who was surveying the shop like a general concocting his battle plan, and Verity, who looked calmer now that the children were securely back with their parents.

"Yes, all of the other tests came back positive. I'm relieved we've gotten it back in time for Valentine's Day, it really is our big opportunity to get them back into circulation. People were a bit over them before we pulled them off the market, but a few years have passed so with the kick start of people wanting to prank their mates or get that special someone to notice them on this festive season, they should do alright."

"You were getting into your sales pitch tone for a while there."

"Habit."

"Trust me, I know. Business is going well, right?" He looked at her in confusion. They regularly talked shop, just as they regularly talked about her work, so she had a good understanding of how it was going. She waited until they were up the stairs and away from listening ears, actual or extendable, to explain. "I spoke to Ron earlier."

"Ah. It's increasing." He glanced behind them. "Not enough to warrant the addition of Ron, but enough that it isn't obvious nepotism. I think his presence is contributing, actually – 'everyone loves a war hero,' after all."

"Has Ron said anything about what he wants to do next?"

"He's still working it out."

"I know the past months haven't been easy for him, but I'm worried that he'll just stay here. It'd be easier than taking a risk elsewhere."

"He won't. Things just haven't finished settling for him yet. When they have…"

"But if he wants to…"

"If he wants to, I'll have to talk to him about it."

She sighed. She liked Ron, she really did, and she thought he'd go well when he found his niche, but she could see him settling for a safe career rather than searching for the right one, especially after the hits he'd been taking. And, whatever her husband said, she knew George would find it difficult to tell his brother that he should start looking for other work.

"I'll just change my robes," George said, letting go of her hand as he walked towards their bedroom. "Do you need to do anything?"

"Yes," she replied, grabbing his hand again and tugging him down to sit on the couch with her. Barely able to contain her excitement anymore or wait until telling him to celebrate, she leant forward to kiss him again, allowing herself to get more into it than she had in the shop. She soon got lost in the kiss and it took her a few minutes to listen to the little nagging voice telling her there was a good reason to pull away.

"Were you planning on going to lunch or staying here?" George asked, pushing a curl back behind his wife's ear.

"George, you know that appointment I had this morning?" He nodded. "I'm pregnant."

He grinned, the happiness on his face mirroring her own, and leant forward, throwing his arms around her. "We're going to have a baby! We're going to be parents! I can't wait to tell everyone, I can't wait to see Fred's…" He broke off, suddenly completely sober. "Angie, this is another thing Fred's not around for. Any Weasley kid is going to have lots of uncles. Fred and I were supposed to be the fun ones. I can do it for both of us with Bill's kids, but I can't be the fun uncle for my own kids."

Angelina slid her hand through his hair. "Maybe not. But you will be the fun father. And our baby won't meet him, but with you around and all the stories we're going to tell, I assure you he or she will feel like they have. Besides, Charlie can be an honorary fun uncle. He'll do his best, you know he will." She fell silent for a few minutes, giving him time to think. "I think it would be nice to name our firstborn after him. Frederick or… I don't know, what'd the girl version be? Frederic…a? Frederique? Freda? Winifred?"

George snorted before lifting his head off her shoulder and adjusting himself until he was facing her, his hand clasping hers. "Frederica or Winifred, probably. But damn, _Frederique_. Fred would've found it bloody hilarious." He paused. "I like Winifred. Winifred Weasley. It's more subtle than bloody Frederique Weasley."

"She and Dominique could be bosom friends. We can just say we're naming our baby Fred and see how many times we get asked what we'd call a girl."

"Angie. We, uh, we have a habit of having… um, twins. In our family. What if we have twins?"

Angelina blanched. "I can't imagine having multiple miniature-yous running around. One untrained little-you is enough."

"You love me."

"Let's just hope I love you enough to love a you who hasn't yet worked out that sometimes when Mummy and Daddy say not to touch something, it's because it really could hurt you."

George swore. "I swear this is the bravest thing we've ever done."

"Hear, hear."


	7. Begin Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my brother (remembering now why I did a general thank you on ff.net rather than a chapter-by-chapter one...).

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, tugging out a few knots as she did so. It hurt, but the pain barely registered, lost in the shadow of her frustration. A glance at the clock confirmed her fears. Percy was due for their date any minute and the problem was only half fixed. She'd thought that she'd have plenty of time to just briefly revise the bill they'd drafted together, but she'd noticed a major cultural misassumption that completely undermined the work and had had to completely rewrite entire sections of the bill.

She let her head flop to the rest on her desk when the wards emitted the sound that indicated the arrival of an approved magical person within its bounds. Sure enough, a knock echoed through the apartment a moment later. She flicked her wand as she uttered the Spyhole Charm, prompting an image of her boyfriend waiting outside her door to appear in front of her. It was a largely unnecessary move, but she and Ginny preferred to take precautions. Not everyone in the wizarding world was happy with their actions, both in the war and in effecting change after the war.

Hermione patted and adjusted her hair, trying to mitigate the effects of her frustrated fingers, as she made her way to the door. She tried to make her smile less weary as she opened the door and kissed him. "Hi Percy."

He frowned. "Is something wrong?"

She could never work out whether it was more touching or frustrating that he could read her. It was a nice change, but at the same time it made keeping secrets as difficult as if she were a nine-year-old girl at her first sleepover. "Come on in and I'll tell you about it."

She saw him note the papers spread out over her desk and started in on her explanation on exactly what the problem was. At least he understood, more than anyone of her friends, the importance of making sure that each and every proposal was foolproof. He knew how the Wizengamot worked. If there is a tiny loophole or clause they don't like, they'll use it to delay the process and discredit the bill itself and, if possible, the creators. She had a lot of friends and support in the Wizengamot, but there were limits to what they could do.

When they were about halfway through the estimated work, Hermione figured it was time to face the facts. "I don't think we're going to be getting out of here in time for dinner. Do you want some takeaway?"

"Pardon?"

"Takeaway."

"What's that?"

"You've never eaten takeaway?" _Of course not,_ Hermione realised. _Even if it weren't just a Muggle thing, Molly would always prefer to cook herself._

"I don't even know what it is."

"I gathered, I just hadn't realised that would be something that you wouldn't have tried before. But I just wanted to reiterate: you've _never_ eaten takeaway?"

"No, I haven't."

"Takeaway is essentially when you order food from a shop to take home or to a park or somewhere with you instead of eating in. It often tends to be less healthy than the food you'd eat in your kind of restaurant but also significantly cheaper and faster to make. I don't know what to introduce you to first. Something you'd like, something you'd like… It can't be too greasy or shockingly different… Do you like pasta or noodles?"

* * *

Hermione awoke to a stiff neck, full bladder and dull headache. It took her a moment for her aching mind to be able to concentrate enough to remember the fact that she had fallen asleep on the lounge with Percy the night before after finishing the bill and having a massive debate on the status of goblins. She opened her eyes, wincing slightly as the sunlight streaming through the windows blinded her. As soon as her eyes had acclimatised, she moved her head off of his shoulder and started stumbling towards the bathroom, stretching her limbs and massaging her neck as she went. After she had relieved herself, she made her way back into the kitchen to fetch an Anti-Headache Potion from her supply. She had been using these temporary solutions a little too regularly lately, but she couldn't see another option until this bill was approved and she could start fixing her sleeping pattern. She froze, hand halfway through a run through her hair, when she saw the redheaded girl sitting cross-legged on the counter. "Gin!" she hissed, before glancing back at Percy to make sure that he hadn't stirred. "When did you get back?" "About ten. You were already snoring." Ginny spoke at an infuriatingly normal volume. "I don't snore!" "Well, one of you do, and I've been around Percy enough to know that it's not him." Hermione reminded herself to pick her battles. There was no point fighting a losing battle over a hectare of uninhabitable terrain when you could distract your opponent as you win a more valuable one. "Speaking of, keep your voice down. I don't exactly want him to wake to this conversation." "The thing with growing up at The Burrow is that it tends to make you particularly good at sleeping through irrelevant noise. Demonstration." Ginny grabbed a novel that Hermione had left on the counter and dropped it on the floor. It thudded, but Percy continued to recline undisturbed. "He'll wake up if he hears laughing or _close_ noises, but distant noises register as non-threatening. He was old enough to make basic wards by the time Fred and George realised that the best way to get him was to pull pranks from a distance." She started to shift before grinning in a disconcertingly guileless way. "Hey, help me down, will you? I've been sitting here so long my leg's fallen asleep." "…How long have you been sitting there?" "I thought it would freak you out. And I didn't want to move my leg in case I was moving when you saw me and ruined the effect. But apparently you were too preoccupied with not waking your sleeping boyfriend to notice." "You know." "I'd already worked it out. It was a little hard not to realise after last night, though. Seriously, though; help me down." Ginny moved her left leg out from under her right, wincing as she did so, and reached out for support. "You try to scare me and then expect help?" After debating the merits of victoriously leaving Ginny to learn her lesson and later dealing with a grumpy and vindictive roommate versus helping her anyway and having a smug but content and unlikely-to-stir-trouble Ginny around, Hermione went to help. "I wasn't trying to scare you, I just thought it'd be funny if you decided to get him out without me noticing, then suddenly looked up to see me impersonating Luna." "How long were you waiting there?" Hermione asked again, realising that she'd never gotten her answer. "Patience is a vital part of pranking. How long have you two been dating?" "Two and a half months. We were going to tell you soon but wanted to wait until we knew we could survive George's jokes, your mother's talk of weddings and Ron's… well, you know. How long have you known?" "Neither of you are particularly good at hiding embarrassment. I could tell when you both got coy whenever I mentioned one of you to the other. I may have then, er, returned home one time to witness what looked like your first kiss." Hermione blushed. "A Saturday five weeks ago?" "That was it. I snuck back out so I wouldn't make things awkward." "Yet you decided to make them awkward now." Both girls glanced at the lounge as Percy started to mumble and shift. "I'll just go shower then. Feel free not to let him know I saw you, or to let him know, or whatever. Just tell me what you decide." "You don't want to scare _him_?" "Nah. Perce's hard to scare. Another side effect of growing up with the twins. If scaring you is amusing, it will keep happening until you manage to make it unsatisfying." Ginny gave a wave as she quietly left the room. Hermione waited until Percy had gotten his bearings to speak. "It looks like we fell asleep talking last night." "Sorry about that. I feel like I haven't had a decent sleep for weeks." "Me neither. I can't wait until this bill gets through, if it ever does." "We'll get it there. Violet agreed to try to sway her father and his friends, which will give us an extra edge." "I suppose. It'd be nice to be able to actually keep our dates though." Percy glanced at the clock. "It's eight. Why don't we go out for breakfast?" "That would be lovely. You can get ready in Ginny's room." Percy looked around as they walked through the hallway. "Is that Ginny?" "Yes, she's in the shower. She, um, said she's known about us for a while." _I told Harry, Ginny worked it out, Luna has always been perceptive… I daresay soon it'll only be the Weasleys and the press who don't know._ "That means she's fine with it. George will joke, but he will be." They had had this conversation before. One of them, sick of having to sneak around, would mention how none of their friends and family would _really_ mind after the initial shock had worn off. But, while neither of them liked keeping their relationship from his family, they all fiercely valued privacy after the war and they knew it would be given much more media attention that it warranted if it got out. Besides, there was Ron to consider. "I still want to give Ron more time first. I think I owe that to him." "I do too, but eventually we'll have to tell him." "The three month mark," Hermione stated. "That's two weeks away. We'll start to tell people then." He nodded before they separated to get ready. When they met again at the front door, she added on impulse, "Thanks for not being annoyed that I couldn't make it out last night." Percy watched her blankly. "That bill was both of our responsibility…" She could see the moment he realised that she was still thinking of what a starkly different reaction Ron would've had. They didn't like to speak about her relationship with Ron. It just wasn't done in wizarding society and she didn't want to create some kind of grudge that would only serve to be a lingering barrier to a renewed friendship by constantly getting worked up over issues that really didn't affect her anymore. Hermione kissed his cheek. She didn't need him to respond, just to know that she was grateful for him being the way he was. "Shall we go, then?"


	8. Slither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thank. Such brother. Wow.

His friends had always joked that their House was aptly named, considering that their goal was to slither into and establish themselves within social groups and environments while making it appear effortless and genuine. So perhaps he shouldn't have been all that surprised when he realised that she had done exactly that. He doubted that she had done so deliberately, figured that it had been just as subtle and unintentional and natural a process for her. Even if it hadn't been, he didn't suppose that he could blame her. After all, she had been one of the only two people from school whom he would have considered friends and would have known the likelihood of him bringing his walls up if she had ever given any indication of fancying him. Back then, he had wanted to be as far removed from the game of courtships and striving to marry well as possible. He had had enough of that from his mother, who he knew to be an excellent herbologist and potioneer who knew how to make poisons that would never leave a trace. After the war, he had left the wizarding world for a few years, only keeping in contact with Daphne and Tracey. They had teased him for being a hermit but let him be until he was ready to return. And in his absence, he realised how, although he missed them both, he missed them differently. On his return, it struck him that he and Tracey had both effectively slithered into the other's heart over the years. He felt for Tracey what his mother's late husbands felt for her. He had just been fortunate in that Tracey felt the same way for him and was genuine about wanting to marry him, rather than mirroring his own mother's emotions.

"I love you," he said, his desire to say it greater than his discomfort. He hadn't let himself verbalise emotions, real or not, in school, sick of his mother's faking. He was still uncomfortable with it, unused to the habit, but Tracey had always been more easy-going with expressing herself. So they tended to compromise, Tracey valuing any time he felt comfortable expressing his feelings and respecting that he couldn't always while Blaise pushed himself to say it even when it made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

Her face lit up and she leaned forward to kiss him. "I love you too." She pulled away and they adjusted so that she was leaning into his embrace as they waited for their guests.

"They're late," she eventually commented, glancing at the clock. "Daphne's never been late before."

"She's not alone this time, though, is she? It can't be easy for her _boyfriend_ to come to dinner with three Slytherins and nary another Gryffindor in sight. I suppose she's at her house now, trying to convince him to come with her."

Tracey laughed. "I can see that. She's probably playing the Gryffindors-are-supposed-to-be-brave card."

He grinned. "And the you-faced-Voldemort-you-can-face-my-friends card."

"And the _I've_ -met- _your_ -friends card."

"Now that's a good card. He can't argue physical versus social bravery or necessity versus option with that one. That's just the purely Slytherin favour-for-favour/like-for-like card."

They fell into silence again until Tracey re-joined with, "I do hope we get along with him. I've only really spoken to him at official functions, and that's not really speaking."

"He never seemed like a bad bloke, just painfully ignorant. And Daphne likes him," Blaise reasoned.

"I'm not worried about us liking him. Daphne's happy with him; as if either of us would jeopardise that. I'm worried about him liking us, or us not having anything to talk about."

"If they can get over any animosity or prejudice, we can."

"Yes, but _she's_ willing to kiss him."

"You're not?" He laughed at her expression.

"That's Daphne's boyfriend you're talking about. Besides, I'd much rather kiss you."

"Maybe we should do that if things get awkward, then?"

"Won't that make things even more awkward?"

"Yes, but he'll see us as an annoying couple rather than a boring pair of individuals."

"I think I'd rather be a boring couple of individuals." She sighed. "We can do this. We're _Slytherins_ , we were raised to be good at finding things to talk about. Besides, we have Daphne as mediator. I'm just worrying over nothing."

"It's not nothing. It's important to all of us. It's stressful because it's important to all of us, and because apparently they can't show up on time, and it'll work because it's important to all of us."

The whoosh of the Floo activating echoed through Tracey's living room. "That'd be them." They looked at one another, considering staying where they were. They would have, if it were just Daphne. But, wanting to make a good impression, they stood and made their way to the fireplace to come face-to-face with their best friend with an expression equal parts annoyed and triumphant on her face and her nervous-looking lord boyfriend.

"Blaise, Tracey, you remember Harry Potter. He'd prefer you call him Potter over Lord Potter in private. We're so sorry we're late; we had to finish something. Harry, my friends Blaise Zabini and Tracey Davies."


	9. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brother + betaing --> gratitude.

Draco had always been accustomed to being noticed. His name, his looks, his attitude; it all demanded attention. He'd basked in that in his youth. His father wasn't always there physically and rarely emotionally and his mother was in a constant war to conceal her unhappiness from her son, but their family links had bought him the beginnings of power from an early age. He'd craved the attention. Now, however, every glance had a judgemental element to it, an assessing quality. Everyone was sizing him up to determine whether he was a threat and whether the approval of Lord Malfoy was worth the scorn of others. He had subsequently taken to avoiding crowds whenever possible. Since his release from his brief stint in prison, he'd spent half of his time doing his duties in England and the other half in France with his mother, where they were far less recognisable and had far greater freedom of movement. It was demeaning to have his movement tracked and approved like a terrorist every time his Portkey application was processed, but it was worth it for the scraps of normality he had when he got there. He'd never taken Potter seriously when he'd expressed distaste at attention, instead thinking that playing coy was never a good look, but could now empathise. He was beginning to see that fame could be as much a curse as a gift, as much a hindrance as a door-opener.

So he'd taken to using Polyjuice Potion whenever the prospect of entering a crowded area overwhelmed him. At the moment, he was wandering through Diagon Alley wearing the appearance of a Muggle his mother had met in France who looked rather like a Black. His mother always kept an eye out for such people, wanting to turn their masquerade into some sort of ode to House Black.

As he shifted his grip on his shopping and considered where he would dine for lunch, he spotted a familiar-looking woman with light brown hair and hazel eyes sitting on a bench and looking rather forlorn. He couldn't quite place her for a few moments, as removed from wizarding politics as he'd tried to become. It was only when she met his eyes, catching him frowning at her, that he recognised her as Astoria Greengrass, a fellow Slytherin alum who was two years younger than him. It was strange, he suddenly realised, that he hadn't seen her at any functions recently. He knew that Daphne was seeing Potter, so he would have assumed that Lord Greengrass would have been focusing on Astoria finding a suitable match.

"Can I help you?" she asked. "You look lost."

Only a fellow Slytherin would recognise the subtle amusement and warning in her tone. Draco was, however, surprised to also hear genuineness. He considered letting her think he was just a simpleton admiring her or plotting to get her to marry him, but something about the genuine niceness, which he hadn't heard from a British person for a long time, tethered him to the spot. Impulsively, he assumed the French accent that he had taken to using as part of his disguise. "Please. I am visiting here. My mother came long ago and found product she loved. I am here to get more for her."

He could see her face light up as soon as she heard his accent and apparent lack of ulterior motive. "Do you know which shop you're looking for?"

"The parfum… the… the shop that sells perfume."

"We just call it a perfume shop," Astoria said with a laugh. She stood up and picked up her handbag. "I'd give you directions, but it's a bit complicated and it's easy to get turned around in the crowd. I'll show you the way."

"Thank you. You are most kind. My name is Benoît."

She started to walk towards the perfume shop – the long way, Draco noted. "I'm Astoria. Where do you live, Benoît?"

"Marseilles. It is located in…"

"Southern France, I know. I've been there with my family a few times. It's lovely there."

"It is indeed. It is nice here too."

"It wasn't, for a while," Astoria said softly, her face grim. "It still isn't, for some." She suddenly looked at Draco. "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so morbid. It's just that it's hard not to be, sometimes. You probably don't want to hear Britain's gritty secrets."

"Not at all. Ignorance is dangerous."

"I just don't think that Britain has recovered from the war yet. So much has changed, but then there is so much that is still the same, and what has or hasn't changed isn't always what you'd want. People are still on edge and you still don't know exactly who believes what. People don't want to give second chances to the people who deserve them but then people who were routing for or financing You-Know-Who but were able to keep up appearances of neutrality are able to slip by unnoticed and it just seems so hypocritical. But people just want to cling to the image that they're successfully rooting out all of the Death Eaters because the alternative terrifies them."

"You think that sympathisers deserve second chances?"

Astoria suddenly flinched and looked around them before pulling him into a corner and casting a quick series of concealment spells. "We shouldn't speak of such things in public. I shouldn't have even said what I did, really, but…" She eyed him speculatively and he could tell that she had been enjoying having a supposedly uninvolved pair of ears to talk at so much that she hadn't been paying attention to their surrounds. "You must understand that my family were around during the war and so are naturally part of the public gaze. The people who matter know where our loyalties stand and would not be convinced by idle chatter. But at least half of the people on that street would socially and even physically lynch us if they heard me discussing this with you."

"If you can't even speak freely, have you considered just leaving Britain?"

"Yes," she admitted. "However, that option is not feasible for me. I… I do not know how it is in France, but it is expected that I marry well and young. My father has been lenient after the war – he knows that my sister and I are still dealing with issues and doesn't want us tethered to someone only masquerading as innocent – but it is expected that we will eventually marry a British wizard and continue our family line. If I left Britain permanently for a reason other than marriage, it would make returning incredibly difficult. So fleeing overseas is an alluring but ultimately transient solution."

Draco wanted to tell her how much he understood her situation. Even for him, he who had no familial connections or responsibilities outside his mother and imprisoned father, it was a difficult move. Upper British society already frowned upon him for his actions during the war. For her, it would be a damning move. Given that her parents and sister were still firmly entrenched in upper British society, the option was virtually impossible. But he couldn't, not unless he wanted to let her know who he really was.

"We should keep moving. We're almost at the shop."

"Wait." He didn't like the idea of them reaching their destination and them returning to their separate lives. He'd envied his classmate's ability to play the game while retaining a sense of genuineness at school, and her younger sister appeared to have also mastered the art of balancing those states. His mother had that knack as well and he had always coveted it, even as he constantly shifted between being too cold and letting his dislike overpower his common sense. Furthermore, although he was loathe to admit it, Draco hated the loneliness of constantly shifting back and forth between France and England with only his mother for company. He appreciated Astoria's thoughts and found her to be one of the few witches he could actually see himself growing to care about. She was also one of the even fewer witches who might want anything to do with him. He decided to test that theory. "Why don't you have a holiday? You could visit Marseilles. I live with a family friend who moved from England after the war; she has not been back often and I am sure she would love to see someone from home."

Astoria looked thoughtful. Regardless of his assurance, it would be rather improper for her to visit a virtual stranger overseas. However, and he hoped that this consideration would win out, she did want an escape rather badly. "I might know her. What is her name?"

"Narcissa Malfoy."

She met his eyes steadily, her thoughtful expression deepening. "Does her son live with you?"

"He visits."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "I suppose that, while it would be scandalous for me to go to Marseilles to visit you, it would not be inappropriate for me to visit Narcissa Malfoy. I was, after all, acquainted with her before her departure and it would be lovely to see how she is. A distant cousin of mine lives in Nice; I can stay with her and Apparate to Marseilles from there. I assume that your friend would rather wizarding Britain not know of her whereabouts."

"I daresay you are correct."

She nodded, her expression satisfied. "I will consult with my father and owl Lady Narcissa about arranging the visit. Now, if I may show you to the shop…"

He started telling her about Marseilles as they removed the concealment charms and continued along their way. She seemed interested, but kept glancing at him curiously.

"Here we are," she eventually said. She smiled at him and added guilelessly, "Oh, and your English has improved."

As she walked away, he wondered when she'd worked it out and whether this meant he should appear as Draco or Benoît when she came to visit. He supposed he should talk to his mother about it. She'd be pleased to finally have reason to discuss a girl with him.


	10. Afresh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my brother for betaing this.

Ron tried to tune the bustling noise of the other patrons of the Three Broomsticks out as he took a drink of his butterbeer, waiting for his date to arrive. A few of the other patrons kept glancing over at him, which made him feel like asking Hannah for the firewhiskey that he'd forgone for the less alcoholic alternative. He usually enjoyed their attention, but the drama of the past year and a half had turned him off it. He was too used to going to the bar by himself while his family and friends were all busy with their significant others and having photos of him looking morose appear in the papers the following day. It was as if a tornado had blown through to destroy his life and scatter the pieces in its gale and the tabloids had only increased the stress by sticking its lens everywhere before he'd had time to see which pieces had landed near him and work out where to go with what he had. Things had slowly started to improve with the birth of his adorable niece Winifred, his appointment to the position of Advertising Representative in the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters division of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and the recent start of his relationship. Photographers were still following him around, hoping to fuel the public's sense of ownership of their war heroes by capitalising on his misery to show them that he really is just like them. He finally understood why Harry and Hermione were so frustrated with the constant presence of cameras, flashes and questions. Having your life chronicled is only fun when it reflects happiness and joy to those around you, and his had been a lot drearier than that for too long a time.

He pushed those thoughts from his mind. He didn't want this date to be dragged down by all of that and he knew that he would fall back into a state of depression if he didn't refocus his mind. She didn't deserve that; he didn't deserve that. He had another drink before closing his eyes and picturing the cutest image that he could – his little niece all dressed up for the professional photos that Fleur had convinced Angelina to have taken of her.

"I'm not late, am I?" his date asked as she slipped into the chair next to him, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"No," he said, opening his eyes and turning to his black-haired companion. "I think we're both early."

"I thought so, but then I saw you waiting and…"

" _Muffliato_ ," he whispered as he waved his wand, not wanting anybody to eavesdrop. "I finished shopping early and thought I'd have a drink before you got here. I was just thinking of Winifred."

"She sounds _so_ gorgeous," Romilda enthused.

"I only hope that if I ever have a kid it turns out like her." He'd been spending so much time around his mother and the baby that the idea of having a newborn around was becoming normal to him, which, quite frankly, scared him a little. He didn't want to have children yet, but the presence of a baby Weasley was reminding him that to have the three or four kids he wanted, he would have to actually go about having them. "How was your morning?"

"Good. I managed to finally get that problem client I told you about to make some major decisions regarding the fundraiser's theme and location, which will allow us to focus on more specific tasks like booking the venue and planning the music, decorations, things like that. He decided on survival, by the way, which is _so_ unoriginal and overdone lately, but now that he's decided he won't budge on the issue, which leaves us with the task of trying to find a unique take on every little detail. I assure you that we won't be hurrying to sign this man back up again. He is pleasant enough but is as indecisive as a gerwit."

"Isn't he some important client?"

"Every client is important, as is what they will say about us afterwards," Romilda said in her business voice, "but that doesn't mean we need to take them back. We can just tell him we're overbooked next time he is looking at organising an event and recommend him to another excellent company whose services he'll decide to stay with." She grinned. "Essentially, we're like a teenager who wants everybody to want us without us necessarily wanting them back."

He snorted. "Businesses are teenagers. Got it."

"Anyway, how was your day?"

"Good. Terry offered to teach me some other areas of the division in a few months' time after I've settled into advertising. I still want to become more involved in planning the games themselves, but there won't be any positions there until somebody else gets promoted or leaves."

"You could come to my office sometime and Stacy could run you through some basic event management," Romilda offered. "It's not the same, but there would be a lot of overlap."

"Nah, I think it'd be better just to have Terry teach me the way he likes things done. But thanks."

"You're still scared of Stacy."

" _Have you seen those nails?!_ Who wouldn't be? I swear, I've never seen longer fingernails."

"It is true that she could probably take down an assailant without even drawing her wand. In fact, I heard that she _has_ …"

"Who?"

"She didn't say, but who do we know who was sent to St Mungo's due to eye injury?"

"… _Jeffrey Waters_?"

She shrugged. "It would certainly seem like it. Of course, she wasn't charged with assault, so either it was self-defence or he's too embarrassed to report her."

"Or too scared to report her," Ron said, wiggling his fingers between them just in case she'd forgotten just why someone might be scared of her colleague.

"Stacy really is very lovely. And she likes you. Besides, how many Death Eaters have you faced in your day?"

"You say that as if it's no longer my heyday."

She giggled. "I don't know, you're getting old…"

"You're not that much younger than me."

"Ah, but I _am_ younger than you. I will never be as old as you are, comparatively." She rolled her eyes at his disgruntled expression. "Ronald Weasley, I do not think that you're out of your heyday. You are most certainly still a spring chicken."

He reluctantly joined in the ensuing laughter, deciding not to contest the 'chicken' comment. George had been trying to convince him to laugh at himself more and he was determined to at least try. Besides, he liked Romilda's friendly ribbing. She had a way of being simultaneously bold and complimentary that made any insults that she did give sting less. "This isn't much warning, but we're having a family dinner tonight to celebrate Charlie's return. Do you want to come? Mum's been trying to convince me to let you meet her since I first told her about you, but I was worried she'd scare you away."

"Nothing can scare me away from what I want," Romilda said, watching him closely and rather particularly.

Ron grinned. "That's one of the things that I love about you."

Romilda raised an eyebrow. " _One_ of the things?"

He hesitated before taking another drink. He wasn't anywhere near ready to follow that conversation to its conclusion yet. He definitely fancied Romilda, and there were things he loved about her, but saying that he loved _her_ was too much of a leap. "So, about dinner…"

That said, another thing he loved about her was that she always knew whether to push him or to leave him to mull it over and work it out on his own. "When does it start?"

"At four. We like to meet early so we can catch up first."

"It wouldn't be a burden on your mother to add another person?"

"There's always more than enough. Besides, she'll have enough time to work something out."

She glanced at the clock over by the bar. "I'd have to cut this a little short so I can go home to write a report on this morning and get changed."

"I'm fine with that."

"Would you like to contact your mother before we order, then?"

Ron sent Patronuses off to his mother and to Harry to forewarn them. Although Harry had unhappily but rather quietly accepted his relationship with Romilda, he was sure his friend wouldn't appreciate him just turning up with her unexpectedly. Ron knew he wasn't as emotionally attuned as his friends, but he liked to think that he'd at least upgraded to the emotional range of a tablespoon by now. Or a small bowl.


	11. Fledgling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So brother. Much beta. Amaze.  
> Originally posted on 11 October 2014 on ff.net.

The Burrow, quieter now that most of its residents had moved out, was bustling with activity as people, most with the signature Weasley hair, milled about the yard. Charlie had returned to England for a brief holiday, so Molly had gathered everybody together for dinner to celebrate his return. Ron watched them through the newly polished kitchen window, simultaneously wanting to spend time with his brother and wanting to delay having to introduce his new girlfriend to the gathering. He was mostly worried about Harry and Ginny's reactions; they both knew he was dating Romilda, but hadn't actually spent time with her since school. Although the war was long past, most of them hadn't yet shaken the habit of listening whenever Harry had his suspicions about somebody. If Harry left dinner thinking that Romilda was just with him because he was famous, everybody else would be more inclined to dislike her. So they, along with his mother, were the most important targets for the night. They had devised a battle plan before they arrived, discussing in depth who the most important people to win over were and who they should start with. He had decided to view the dinner like a chess game; if he took Bishop Ginny, Queen Molly and King Harry, the game was his. Popping a biscuit into his mouth, he tuned back into the conversation occurring between his mother and girlfriend. It was, to his relief, going well. Molly had immediately welcomed Romilda and her warmth had only grown as they talked about her dreams of a large family and admiration for Molly while they cooked. The best part was that he knew that Romilda, while certainly trying to win over Molly, wasn't lying. It also, although he preferred not to acknowledge it, gave him a secret rush of spiteful pleasure that Molly approved of Romilda in a way that she never had of Hermione.

Ever since hearing that Hermione Granger had helped Harry and Ron with whatever they did at the end of their first year and had Albus Dumbledore's personal approval, Molly Weasley had liked the girl. However, she was never the kind of person she'd want as the wife of one of her sons. Molly was nothing if not traditional, and Hermione was as dangerously non-conformist as Fleur Delacour, although her threat lay in her quiet, determined focus on academics rather than gaudy championship and overt sexuality. Neither fit Molly's model of wifehood or motherhood, although she had come to accept that there were much worse options for a son than Hermione – including Fleur – and had given in. _Romilda_ , however – _Romilda's_ priority was to be the wife of a respected member of wizarding society, with employment as a desirable but ultimately secondary pursuit. Even if Molly had known of Romilda's attempts to snare Harry Potter in her fifth year, she would have deemed boldness when pursuing socially acceptable and desirable goals to be a positive quality. After all, weak-willed girls tended not to last long around the Weasleys. Molly did not appreciate Romilda's apparent interest in Ron's fame, but she was smitten enough with the girl that she did not overly mind. Ron was pleased by how instantly his mother had taken to his new girlfriend; none of his siblings would be able to say a word against her in front of Molly, which would help stem the accumulation of negative conversations and opinions.

"Look at the time!" Molly suddenly exclaimed. "Romilda, dear, you should be outside in the sun, meeting everybody, not cooped up inside like this. Ron, be a dear and introduce her to everybody. I'm sure you'll get along quite nicely with Ginny."

"Alright," he said, although he sincerely doubted the validity of her last statement. "She loves you," Ron whispered as he hooked arms with Romilda and led her straight to where Charlie was captivating Angelina, Teddy and Victoire with what he assumed was a tale of his time in Romania.

"Well, I like her."

He looked up as they reached the group. "Everybody, this is my girlfriend Romilda. Romilda, this is my brother Charlie, George's wife Angelina, Bill's daughter Victoire and Harry's godson Teddy."

"It's lovely to meet you. I've heard so much about you," Romilda said as she hugged the two adults.

"I can't imagine what it's like to hear stories about George's 'adventures' second-hand," Angelina said. "You must think we're all crazy."

"Not at all," Romilda said with a laugh. "Well, except perhaps George. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but some of his pranks and products do seem rather insane."

Angelina and Charlie joined in with the laughter.

"He's always been like that. Drove Mum mad." Charlie looked down with a broad smile as Teddy tugged on his jacket. Behind him, Victoire, although looking disgruntled, was trying to stop him from doing something as impolite as interrupting an introduction. "Yes, kiddo?"

"Uncle Charlie, finish story!"

Charlie glanced at Romilda awkwardly. "I'll finish it later, alright? I'll even start it again if you want _and_ tell you the story about the time my partner almost got herself eaten."

Teddy seemed to consider.

"Don't stop because of me," Romilda said before he could make a decision. "From what Ron's said about your work, it sounds fascinating. I'd love to hear more about what you do. I might need him to start from the start if that's alright with you, though, kids."

The children's faces lit up. "If you're sure…" Charlie said, watching her uncertainly for a moment before starting the story again. Ron waited until the dramatic story of how Charlie had been the only one present at a dragon birthing and had had to distract the dragon so he could get around to check on the baby was over before excusing himself. As he left, he heard Charlie, encouraged by his captivated audience, jump into another riveting tale.

As he passed the table of appetisers on his way to Harry and Hermione, figuring that it'd be best to confront them before they officially met Romilda, he overheard Fleur, Bill and George talking about her. Deciding that recon was more valuable, he turned his back to the trio and started to eat. Hopefully they'd think he was Percy, who was talking to Daphne just out of their line of sight, or at least that he was too preoccupied to pay attention to their conversation.

"I do not like 'er. She wants to marry 'im because of 'iz role in ze war," Fleur said quietly, so that Ron had to strain his ears to listen. "Ginny told me stories from when zey were at school and none of zem were pleasant."

"To be fair, though, that _is_ rather similar to what my mother thought about you initially," Bill reasoned. "And look how that turned out."

"That was more about Mum's hatred of Veela, I think. And, you know, the fact that her eldest son and his wife probably can't have sons," George said.

"I do not like 'er, but I zink she iz good for Ronald. Zey both seem to want to marry well and 'ave a large family. Besides, Ronald hazn't stared at me once tonight."

There was a pause. Ron wished that he could see their faces. He knew it was risky to alter his stance to try to see what they were doing, but he couldn't resist. He dropped a pumpkin pasty on the ground and crawled under to find it, looking back at them as he put the pasty in his mouth. All three of his eavesdrop victims were looking in Romilda's direction.

"She is pretty," George allowed.

"Maybe she's the one."

"Mum'd love that. Well, time to introduce her to the family properly, then. There's no way of knowing if she'll fit 'til we know how she'll handle a good prank." George rubbed his hands together gleefully, mostly excited to have a new and so relatively unsuspecting victim, and set off towards his old bedroom to gather supplies and devise a plan. Neither Bill nor Fleur tried to stop him, knowing they'd be unsuccessful anyway.

Ron crawled out from under the table and, after taking pouring and downing a cup of Butterbeer to moisturise his suddenly dry throat and calm his nerves, approached his friends. They'd been joined by Ginny, Percy and Daphne. He glanced back at Romilda, who was now watching Teddy change his appearance with awe, for courage and a reminder that Romilda was more than worth the coming conversation, however it turned out. He decided to sneak up behind his friends so that he could see what he could glean from their conversation; they too were looking over at Romilda a lot more than was polite or natural.

"She likes his fame," he heard Harry say. Even though he had assumed it would be the case, it amused Ron that _everyone_ seemed to be talking about – or, in Charlie and Angelina's case, to – Romilda. It frustrated him that they didn't seem to have anything else to talk about, but at least it would give him an idea of their concerns and the best way to neutralise them.

"Maybe she's allowed to," Ginny replied. "If they like one another, does it really matter that she likes that too?"

"He likes that she does," Percy commented. "He took a few big hits in a row. I'm concerned that he's using her, knowingly or not, until he works out where he wants to go from here."

"She likes it, he likes it," Hermione said. "Maybe the fact that they share important values is more important than whether or not we agree with those values. There are a lot of people who put us on a pedestal. We don't like that, but maybe it's not such a bad thing that he doesn't mind dating somebody who views him that way."

"To be honest, he'd have a short list to choose from if he didn't," Daphne added.

"True," Percy agreed. "I suppose it also has the benefit of meaning that he didn't care about us for long."

"I'm just concerned that Ron is settling," Harry said, frowning. "Maybe I should talk to him about it, see what he thinks. I just don't want to offend him."

"Is it settling if you realise that what you want is different from what you used to want?" Ron asked, deciding to make his presence known. Eavesdropping was, while gratifying and informative, getting old. He wanted to actually spend time with his family, not spend the whole evening listening to their conversations like an infant. "Romilda is no Hermione, but then Hermione is no Romilda either."

They all spun around in surprise. That was gratifying too.

"Hi Ron," Hermione said, smiling awkwardly. He returned the gesture. The road to recovering their friendship had been complicated by the tabloids, who tended to speculate about a reconciliation whenever they met or conversed at public functions.

"Ron," Percy said, "I didn't mean what I said as a criticism of you."

"I know," Ron said, focused more on Harry. Percy valued being accepted by his once-estranged family too much to cause a problem and the girls seemed inclined to be reasonable, in his opinion. The way he saw it, Harry was the most important person to influence. Although Harry would never admit it, his opinion was still highly valued by each and every member of the Weasley family. If Harry accepted Romilda, the others would be much more likely to. If Harry didn't, they'd be much more likely to voice any concerns they had.

"Ron," Harry said, a bit of his childhood awkwardness returning. "I'm just not entirely sure that Romilda is the type of person you should be with. I mean, she tried to slip me a love potion that made you want to follow her around like an infatuated puppy."

"That was a once off," Ron said with a shrug. "You're Muggle-raised, you don't get it. Love potions are rare nowadays, but they used to be self-digested a lot in arranged marriages so the spouses were happy with the arrangement."

"I read about that," Hermione said, perking up at the idea of sharing knowledge. "I researched arranged marriages when you came into your lordships, Harry, in case anybody tried to trick you into one. It's become much less common as arranged marriages and marriages of convenience have become less widespread, but some of the noble houses still offer it to their children when arranging a political marriage between strangers or acquaintances, at least to make the honeymoon period less awkward."

For the first time since their breakup, Ron offered Hermione a completely genuine and uncontrolled smile.

"Lily Moon offered me one when Harry started courting me, wanting to make sure I wouldn't be the one to end the relationship," Daphne said. "Most people nowadays frown upon the tradition, especially long-term, but Hermione's right – some still use it."

"Exactly," Ron said. "The general idea is that it's allowed as a prompt, just not continually. You said Voldemort's mum used it to snag his dad, yeah? The problem was she kept using it. If she had used it once, spent the day with him, seen how it went and then stopped using it and given him the choice to stay or go, that'd have been alright. It's like how Mum used one on Dad so he'd notice her. He noticed her because of it, he stayed because he wanted to. 'Course, it's supposed to be a lot more subtle than the one Romilda used. Except she had to go and buy it from the twins, didn't she? So she got a prank one instead."

"The idea," Percy explained, "is usually for the potion to get an individual to notice the other and start thinking about them, with a sort of…"

"Through slightly rose-coloured glasses," Hermione supplied, watching Harry to make sure he understood the reference.

"It's essentially a day-long schoolgirl crush," Ginny added.

Harry quickly looked at her as a thought came to him. "You never used it on me, did you?"

"Of course not. All of the fairytales have the prince falling in love without it. And, after the chamber, that was what I saw you as. Love potion is an option, but it's terribly unromantic. Then I got older, started to like _you_ rather than 'The Chosen One' and realised that I didn't want to be just another person trying to manipulate you. I wanted you to notice me on your own or not at all. Being possessed has the strange side effect of making you averse to using magic to influence people's emotions anyway, no matter how briefly."

"Right. I still don't like it," Harry said, before adding to Hermione, "and I can't believe you do, either. Daphne, Ginny and Percy grew up with it; you didn't."

"Romilda did too, Harry. I don't like it, I just understand that it's normal for her – and for Ron."

"On the fame issue… we've always been taught to marry well. You marry someone with a respectable name and hopefully money or title. So has she. The Vanes are a respectable family and she set her sights on a future lord. I can't blame her for that, mate, nor for then wanting a member of one of the ancient families."

"I just don't want her using you, Ron. I want you to be happy."

Ron shrugged. "She makes me happy."

"I don't like Romilda, but I'm happy for you," Hermione said. "Both of you."

"That seems to be the consensus," Ron said, frowning.

"Give it time," Ginny said. "I'm sure I'll like her more now she isn't pursuing my boyfriend or sticking her nose into my private business."

"Where is Wood, anyway?"

And just like that, the conversation shifted from the suitability of Romilda Vane to the intensive training that Oliver Wood's captain was putting his team through in preparation for the upcoming finals and the odds of his team winning.

"Uncle Harry!" The group all turned to watch the pink-haired boy running towards them. "Uncle Harry, Vicky said yes!"

"To what?" Harry asked, kneeling down so he was of a height with him.

"To marrying me! Uncle Harry, will you be… What was it Uncle Lee was at Uncle George's wedding?"

Harry struggled to contain a laugh. "Best man?"

"Yes! Will you be best man?"

"It'd be an honour. Has your lovely bride chosen a maid of honour?"

"She wanted her aunt Gabrielle but she's not here so she asked me to ask you, Daphne, because you're pretty and nice. She woulda done it herself but she's making the rings."

"Well, thank you."

"And Grandpa agreed to marry us!"

"That was very nice of him."

* * *

The wedding happened in the Weasley backyard, much like the bride's mother's had several years prior. The assorted guests split into sides randomly, few of them really willing to pick between the children. Victoire had stuck a bunch of flowers in her hair, while Teddy had made his hair rainbow-coloured for the occasion. Victoire skipped down the grassy aisle, her hands clasped together in excitement. Arthur made up a bunch of official-sounding sentences that were far enough from the truth to not be magically binding and the kids promised to be friends and partners forever before exchanging rings made of threaded dandelions. Although she vehemently denied it later, it was noted that Molly Weasley shed many a tear at the sight. And as the adults raised their wine glasses in toast at the makeshift reception, and the supposedly married young couple looked around for bugs to play with, Angelina eyed her grinning husband with suspicion. Her suspicions were validated a few moments later when Romilda's clothes suddenly transfigured into a medieval gown and her words started coming out in rhyme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rereading this to add html made me realise that this might be a bit ambiguous about something, and I wanted to clarify it; I don't like how love potions are viewed in the wizarding world or how blithe Fred and George are about selling them. I wanted Ron to end up with someone, and, although it was initially a joke, the idea of his partner being Romilda seemed to fit. But that required addressing the sixth year love potion incident in a way that made it viable for Ron to either forgive her or not really be that bothered about it in the first place. I still find the idea of using love potions to create a one-day crush to be massively creepy and abhorrent, but was trying to grapple with the conflicting ideas about it that are expressed in canon. It just hit me while rereading this that it's a bit glib at times about something whose main purpose is inherently problematic.


End file.
